


Undeniably human

by ToxicPineapple



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (SIGHS), Canon Compliant, Chapter Five Rewrite, Character Death, Crying, Developing Relationship, God this sucks huh, How do you even tag hangar fics, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, JUST ONE HUG, M/M, Missing Scene, Sad Ending, hangar fic, if you will, the final hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Ouma laughed again. “I’ve… always been alone, Momota-chan, it’s,” he winced, and sniffled, wiping away some of the tears on his cheek, “really not something that bothers me.” He shrugged. “You’re the one who’s surrounded by friends you don’t rely on, and I’m the one who didn’t have any friends to rely on in the first place. So it goes, nishishi.”That little horse-like giggle of his had never felt so empty. Momota furrowed his brow, pressing his lips together, and felt something ugly, something sad flipping in his stomach. Ouma was talking about it like they were just characters, like everything they did was what they were meant to do, but that didn’t make any sense to Momota. He wasn’t the type to do what he was supposed to do. He didn’t like following guidelines or sticking to the rules. That wasn’t how he operated. He was the Luminary of the Stars, damnit.And if Ouma was going to die, he wouldn’t be alone when it happened.---Momota and Ouma share a moment alone in the hangar.
Relationships: Momota Kaito/Oma Kokichi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 143





	Undeniably human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jimcloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jimcloud/gifts).



> in which i write oumota and it's not actually an april fool's day prank this time
> 
> hi jim! i love you.

After Ouma finished explaining his plan, after Momota agreed, (though whether he agreed for Harumaki, or because he saw this plan for what it was; one last chance for him to try to save everybody, to end that disgusting killing game, he really couldn’t say, not right then) they stood in silence for a moment, Ouma’s shoulders shaking a bit with barely-suppressed pain, Momota himself shuddering occasionally as he swallowed down the urge to cough.

(He didn’t know why he bothered, Ouma  _ knew.  _ Ouma had known, probably right from the start, because as good as Momota was at lying, Ouma was better. They both knew that. It was a matter of pride, Momota supposed. He couldn’t let himself lose control like that, not right before he was to kill Ouma.)

He supposed he should break the silence, in some way, get a move on, hurry up and kill Ouma before the poison did it for him and the plan was made impossible. Momota had never had a problem getting up his nerves before. It was just that… it was…

Before Momota could muster the courage to break the silence, Ouma did it for him, his voice a pained rasp.

“I-It’s getting…” and as Ouma caught his breath, he braced himself against the wall, his brow furrowing and his jaw locking in a grimace, “it’s getting harder to breathe, so can you…”

And Momota had agreed to do it, to kill him, so there was really no good reason to keep putting it off, but there was just one thing that felt off, that felt wrong. One thing that he had to know. Even if seeing Ouma in such obvious pain made his stomach twist, just a little. “Hey,” his voice came out a bit rough, so he cleared his throat before continuing, “can I ask you somethin’?”

Ouma’s eyes, near-fluorescent as they were in the dark of the hangar, glinted with curiosity as they flitted over to focus on Momota, but he didn’t say anything. There was a tick in his jaw from clenching it so tight, and his arm quivered on the arm. When Momota shifted on his feet, wanting to move closer and support him, Ouma moved himself back with a little hiss of pain, so that was that.

“You,” Momota was having a hard time putting the question into words, “you say you want to ruin this killing game, but you…” he lowered his eyebrows, remembering momentarily beyond the pain and the bewilderment just how very  _ angry  _ he felt while Ouma was laughing in the wake of Gonta’s execution, just completely filled with rage, with righteous hatred. “You kept… going off about how fun this game was.”

As ever, Ouma’s expression was blank, just impossible to read, aside from his lips, which were fixed in a tiny frown, just a small indication of his displeasure. Then his nose wrinkled, and he let out a breath, ducking his head. “That was a  _ lie…”  _ he scoffed, then winced, his free hand coming up to rest on his forehead, carding through sweat-heavy locks of dark purple hair. “Obviously. How could a game that you’re forced to play-- where you’re forced to  _ kill,”  _ he spat the word with such anger, such hatred, Momota had a hard time reconciling the Ouma Kokichi before him with the Ouma Kokichi who killed Gonta and Iruma, “be fun?”

And Momota didn’t know what to say to that, not really, because he wasn’t  _ like  _ Ouma, not like that, not when it came to games. Momota hadn’t spent one second of his time there thinking about what had been happening as a game. It wasn’t a game. Akamatsu’s life, Chabashira’s life, Gonta’s life-- they weren’t  _ games.  _ They were real, they were valuable, they were to be treated with care. Momota couldn’t understand the way that Ouma operated, talking about everything like it existed for his amusement, like the way other people were  _ hurt  _ didn’t matter to him, so long as he was amused.

Or at least, he didn’t, but the way that Ouma talked about killing…

Momota didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t interrupt.

“I had to think that this game was fun to survive,” Ouma continued, and to Momota’s surprise, his eyes flooded with tears, the very same angry kind that he shed in the aftermath of Gonta’s trial, before the execution, before he started laughing and saying all of those nasty, nasty things. Momota felt frozen in place, watching Ouma’s tears fall, watching him make a futile effort to wipe them away with his sleeves, his expression contorting in rage, and in anguish. “I had to-- to  _ lie _ to myself!”

It was then that Momota found his voice. “Ouma, you--”

“The bastards that created this game to toy with our lives,” Ouma’s chest was heaving, so much so that it must have been painful, continuing on like that, but he didn’t stop. It was though he’d been waiting to explain all of this, to talk about it, all of that time.

(He probably had been, as a matter of fact; who would Ouma have turned to before then? It was obvious that Gonta didn’t know a shred of Ouma’s  _ real  _ motivations. And Momota, he’d… he hadn’t given Ouma a chance, not a second, before then, had he?)

“...and the shits enjoying it…” Ouma added, with no less rage than before, but as a bit of an afterthought, it seemed like, “they all… piss me off! ” He pushed himself off the wall, gesturing with both of his hands, more openly emotional than Momota had ever seen him before, even after Hoshi, even after Gonta, even when he got his head hit on that plank on the third floor. “Th-That’s why,” Ouma’s breath hitched with an angry sob, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes, to end this game.”

“Ouma,” Momota breathed out, one of his hands shifting to cover his mouth, rather than clasping at the back of his neck. (He could still smell the blood on it from before, though whether it was his or Ouma’s, it didn’t really matter.) He didn’t know what to say, what to do; Ouma’s body was  _ wracked  _ with sobs, he was shaking, looking like he was going to collapse. Momota had always been good with words, but damn it if he didn’t know what to say then. “I didn’t… I never…”

“Of course you didn’t,” and when Ouma laughed, it was strangled. “You weren’t  _ supposed  _ to. Imagine what a liability it would’ve been if the dumb hero character kept believing in me even after I came out as the mastermind. Besides, it would’ve gone against their narrative or whatever if you had a clue.” Ouma giggled, and it sounded slightly hysterical with tears dripping from his chin and soaking into his scarf. “Narrative foils, or whatever.”

Momota didn’t know what he was talking about, but he got the gist of it, at least. It made Momota’s stomach turn, just a little. He cleared his throat, trying to-- to find a word to put to all that was swirling in his head, that made him want to sink into the floor and cough himself to death, rather than trying anything else. “But at least I could’ve-- made it so you didn’t have to be so alone, or… somethin’.”

Ouma laughed again. “I’ve… always been alone, Momota-chan, it’s,” he winced, and sniffled, wiping away some of the tears on his cheek, “really not something that bothers me.” He shrugged. “You’re the one who’s surrounded by friends you don’t rely on, and I’m the one who didn’t have any friends to rely on in the first place. So it goes, nishishi.”

That little horse-like giggle of his had never felt so empty. Momota furrowed his brow, pressing his lips together, and felt something ugly, something sad flipping in his stomach. Ouma was talking about it like they were just characters, like everything they did was what they were meant to do, but that didn’t make any sense to Momota. He wasn’t the type to do what he was supposed to do. He didn’t like following guidelines or sticking to the rules. That wasn’t how he operated. He was the Luminary of the  _ Stars,  _ damnit.

And if Ouma was going to die, he wouldn’t be alone when it happened.

Before Ouma could say anything else-- and he did open his mouth, which was how Momota knew he was going to try and speak-- Momota surged forward, closing the distance between the two of them and bending down to tuck his arms around Ouma’s waist, careful to avoid the wounds on his upper arm and back. Despite Momota’s effort, Ouma still bristled, letting out an indignant, startled noise and moving backwards a bit in Momota’s embrace. It was obvious he wasn’t used to being touched like this, to being held, but Momota hugged him tight, anyway, drew him closer.

Ordinarily he would’ve waited, he would’ve asked. But Ouma was going to die within the hour, and Momota would be gone a few after that. They didn’t have time anymore to wait.

No matter how unfair that was.

“What are you doing?” Ouma hissed out. His hands rested themselves automatically on Momota’s biceps and squeezed. Not painfully; he wasn’t strong enough for that, not right then, probably not ever. Even when Momota was dying of a terminal illness. “We-- We only have so long before the bomb goes off, and you have a lot to do and I don’t think you’re good enough to set up the crime scene in a short amount of time, we can’t just stand here doing-- whatever the hell this i--”

“Just a few minutes, yeah?” Momota breathed out, ducking his head a little, and Ouma stopped talking. “I treated you like shit back there because I didn’t take the time to understand, and you killed Gonta and held Harumaki hostage, but you’re crying--”

“I’m not--” Ouma began, sounding very much like he was.

“--and we’re both gonna die today no matter what happens,” regardless of whether the plan failed or not, Momota was a goner, he was  _ done for,  _ “so just-- just a few minutes. Please.”

Ouma’s hands lifted and settled on Momota’s arms. He seemed uncertain, unsteady; his breath hitched, and Momota felt it against his own chest, where it was pressed against Ouma’s.

Then he lifted his arms, hissing out a little pained breath, and wrapped them tentatively around Momota’s neck. His grip was impossibly loose, as though he felt like Momota was going to pull away at any second, and he was just trying not to hurt himself by holding on too tight.

They stood there for the longest of moments, breathing together, and Momota was close enough right then that he could feel Ouma’s heartbeat, beating out of synch with his own, and it was…

undeniably…

human.

Momota had never seen Ouma that way before.

Right then, when both of their breaths were strangled and uneven, when they were both staring death in the face, when they were so different but so similar, no matter how long it had taken Momota to realise it, it was…

difficult to see Ouma as anything other than a human, really.

(Ouma had a spare scarf, it turned out, tucked into the pocket of his uniform. One to wear, one to hold. Momota hesitated for a while as he looked at it, and then flushed it down the toilet.

But he kept the one that Ouma wore around his neck. It wouldn’t matter in a couple of hours, anyway. Momota could be a little selfish.)

**Author's Note:**

> also kokichi is trans


End file.
